


Home For The Holidays

by myracingthoughts



Series: Hallmark Holiday Movie Bingo [7]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bad Parenting, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Home for Christmas, Jewish Darcy Lewis, Loss of Parent(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:13:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28139733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myracingthoughts/pseuds/myracingthoughts
Summary: The ride up to her parents’ house seemed to stretch on forever, bare trees lining the roads as the soft white snow floated down from the sky. Darcy took the time to get Clint up to speed with the operation— or at least, that’s how she was framing it to him.It was basically another case. Almost work, even.“Whatever you do, just please don’t get them started on politics,” Darcy warned, keeping her eyes on the road. “Or the police. Defunding the police, to be precise. God, the Facebook posts they shared…”Clint didn’t have a chance to come up with some disarming joke before Darcy continued.“Or religion. Especially religion, actually.”Darcy goes home for Christmas with her boyfriend and a whole lot of family baggage.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Darcy Lewis
Series: Hallmark Holiday Movie Bingo [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2035525
Comments: 11
Kudos: 67





	Home For The Holidays

**Author's Note:**

> This fic checks off my 'Bad relationship with mom or dad' [Hallmark Holiday Movie Bingo](https://pasmonblog.tumblr.com/post/634579786258432002) square.
> 
> This fic references Clint's occupation briefly, but if you want to read an incredible fic that explores what _that_ would look like (or how Darcy and he could have met), I recommend you read Treaddelicately's fic [Damned If I Don't](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27583276).

This wasn’t exactly how Clint Barton imagined spending his holidays.

Had it been up to him, he probably would have gotten a head start on the casefiles piling up on his desk—OK, fine, it was a _coffee table_ , but still. Probably would have had some terrible Christmas movies in the background, Lucky’s head in his lap and a mugful of coffee. 

He didn’t expect to be on the road, travelling across town in the early hours of the morning. Off on some road trip neither participant wanted a part of. But Darcy Lewis was standing outside of her apartment building, her leashed cat in her arms as she shot him a nervous smile.

“Houdini ready for his drop-off?” Clint called out through the open car window.

Clint was surprised she even managed to find the aptly-named cat. Usually, he would have been huddled under a piece of furniture they’d have to topple to get at him. Darcy slid into the back of the car, clutching the cat carrier on the seat beside her.

“I think he’s more ready for a trip to Auntie Nat’s than I am to go home,” Darcy huffed, stroking Houdini’s fur through the mesh of the back as he rubbed against the walls of the carrier.

Clint didn’t know what to say to that, eyes darting to the back seat at every red light, just making sure Darcy wasn’t about to burst into nervous tears on his watch. He’d seen how antsy she’d been this week, forgetting appointments and deadlines as her brain tried to put together every single worst-case scenario for their weekend with her family. 

The list was long and varied, with everything from disapproval of Clint (he didn’t mind) to harping on her job (at least she had one, never mind one she actually enjoyed). And then there was the possibility of her stepmother getting so drunk she started spewing teenaged-Darcy Lewis’s deepest, darkest secret (honestly, this one freaked him out the most).

He didn’t force conversation, turning on the radio to fill the silence, and he didn’t get out of the car as Darcy walked the cat carrier to Nat’s front door. Clint waved from the driver’s seat, waiting for Darcy to buckle herself into the passenger seat before he reached over to grab her hand.

The ride up to her parents’ house seemed to stretch on forever, bare trees lining the roads as the soft white snow floated down from the sky. Darcy took the time to get Clint up to speed with the operation— or at least, that’s how she was framing it to him.

It was basically another case. Almost work, even.

“Whatever you do, just please don’t get them started on politics,” Darcy warned, keeping her eyes on the road. “Or the police. Defunding the police, to be precise. God, the Facebook posts they shared…”

Clint didn’t have a chance to come up with some disarming joke before Darcy continued.

“Or religion. Especially religion, actually.”

While Darcy’s birth mother was Jewish and upheld the traditions, her stepmother was Catholic. Very Catholic. So Catholic she’d made sure to warn Darcy that she’d be housed in her childhood twin bed, and Clint would be relegated to a twin air mattress on the floor. There would be no “funny business” under their roof.

Regardless of whether or not they were both in their thirties. 

And Darcy’s father was about as non-confrontational as they got, so, like a bump on a log to his wife’s bulldozer attitude, he did absolutely nothing. So Darcy was left to celebrate Hanukkah on her own, in the comfort of Clint’s apartment with her hand-me-down menorah in the weeks leading up to Christmas.

Needless to say, it was a bit of a sore spot.

“So, while you’re getting me up to speed, I might as well ask. I’m guessing you didn’t tell them how we met?”

Darcy didn’t meet the shit-eating grin on his face at the _unconventional_ introduction— because, let’s be real, meeting someone through a case file wasn’t exactly typical.

Darcy huffed, “Not exactly something I’d want to bring up in front of them if you catch my drift.”

‘Not exactly something I ever want to have to say out loud again’ would have been closer to the truth.

“In fact,” she continued, “if they ask—”

“If they ask, I’ll come up with something,” Clint assured, patting her hand. “I don’t know if you know this, but I’m pretty good on my feet.”

Darcy snorted, “Not the way Nat tells it.”

Clint ignored her jab and fiddled with the radio, settling on a classic rock station (their happy neutral) before slumping back into his seat.

“You know, you didn’t have to come.”

Clint wasn’t sure if Darcy was trying to give him an out, or if this was her roundabout way of thanking him, but he went in assuming the best. Mostly because that stress crease in her forehead was beginning to worry him, and he wasn’t sure there was enough chocolate in the world to soothe her right now.

“I know, but I wanted to be here for you,” Clint explained, thumb tracing circles on the back of her hand.

They had just turned into the driveway when Clint realized what he’d been in for, with every square inch of gutter, shrub and pine tree was covered in multicoloured lights. The giant inflatable Santa on the front lawn was a nice touch, as were the giant, shiny baubles hidden amongst the bushes lining the picture window.

It was like any other white bread, suburban American household at Christmas, and even though he’d never met Darcy’s family, somehow Clint knew they were walking into a trap.

* * *

Darcy sighed, rolling her eyes, “Raquel always overdoes it with the decorations. Pretty sure she single-handedly keeps our local Home Goods afloat.”

The memory of pine garland scratching at her hands from every accidental brush with a bannister haunted her. At least her stepmother hadn’t broken out the giant manger and star of Bethlehem display that took up most of the lawn this year— though Darcy supposed there was still time.

“Darcy! Is that you? I almost didn’t recognize you.”

Raquel, Darcy’s stepmother of the last twelve years, stood on the front porch, wrapped in her housecoat and slippers that probably cost more than Clint’s whole outfit. There was a little sparkle around her neck, pantyhose visible below the hem of the robe as the pair realized they were probably underdressed by her standards in slightly-wrinkled sweaters and denim.

“Hi, Raquel,” Darcy greeted levelly, something resembling a half-assed smile crossing her lips. “You look nice.”

“Thank you. I’m glad you’ve been eating well,” she managed to slip in the first shot, eyes assessing her from head-to-toe before sliding over to Clint. “And who’s this?”

“Clint Barton, ma’am. Nice to meet you,” Clint replied, striding up with his hand extended.

Though Darcy could tell by the slightly pinched expression on his face that he meant anything but.

And sure, maybe it hadn’t exactly been the smoothest start, but Darcy knew it could have been a lot worse.

The part she was dreading most about the three-day affair was with extended family. It was kind of like a multiplying effect. The more people around the table, the more they tried to pick out the weak link to draw attention away from the rest of them. Darcy would be lying if she said she wasn’t worried their ribbing would be too much for Clint to handle. 

Darcy Lewis was the black sheep in a family of lawyers— and while Clint is good natured, she was more than worried her family would turn them off their relationship.

“Sweetheart!”

“Hi, Dad,” Darcy said, pulling him into a one-armed hug in the entryway.

He looked a little greyer around the edges, and Darcy’s stomach sunk at the thought. It had been two years since she’d been home for the holidays, three before that. The excuses seemed to come easier the more distance she’d put between them, but now that familiar feeling of guilt was starting to set in.

Clint was barely through the door when Darcy’s dad sidled up to him, giving a very obvious once-over to the man dating his only daughter. Darcy could have snorted at the tough facade he was trying on for size, knowing deep down he was a teddy bear— well, mostly.

“This is my--” Darcy started, but her dad had his own line of questioning ready.

“What do you do, Clyde, was it?”

Darcy nearly rolled her eyes.

“Clint,” he corrected, with a little more edge than he probably intended. “I’m a contractor with local law enforcement.”

Darcy tried to hide her raised eyebrows at his _unconventional_ answer, watching her dad offer a curt nod, pleased enough.

“You should go drop off your things in your room and get cleaned up for dinner,” Raquel urged, fussing with her housecoat slightly. “Should be ready in about an hour, and your aunts and uncles should be arriving around shortly.”

Darcy avoided a grimace at the thought of the dinner table conversation inevitably turning to Darcy’s future. Like it always seemed to. The pair were barely up the stairs when Darcy shot Clint a knowing look. He knew exactly what she was on about.

“What? Technically I fulfill _contracts_ ,” Clint reasoned with a bit of a lilt. “And technically, those contracts are issued by some level of law enforcement. Totally legit.”

Darcy couldn’t quite keep the smirk on her face, knowing he’d done the right thing, even if it stretched the truth slightly.

“I don’t know if bounties count as contracts, Clint.”

But she left it at that, leading them both to her childhood room. It looked just like she’d left it, from the mint green paint on the walls to the—

“Wait! Don’t look at those!”

Darcy tried her hardest to put herself between Clint and the Backstreet Boys posters that had been hanging on display since 2001, knowing he’d never let her live that down. But from the glint in his eyes and the smirk he wore, she knew she was too late. Really, he shouldn’t have been surprised, not with her eclectic playlists and questionable taste in music.

But still, she knew that was definitely going to pop up later to bite her in the ass.

Probably at their next dinner at Nat’s.

Her plan of hiding her embarrassing secrets already foiled, Darcy’s eyes drifted over to her childhood closet door, smiling at the scratched and worn hand-painted nameplate on the wood-- in her mother’s looping cursive.

“I wonder if all my stuff is still…” Darcy trailed off, tugging the chain that turned on the light in her closet. 

She ran her fingers over the frayed edges of the labels, organized by decades in her mother’s handwriting. Her thoughts flashed back to Raquel nearly donating her mother’s menorah, passed down through the family along with some other trinkets and mementos. Making a mental note to bring those back home with them, she was about to turn her attention to the deflated air mattress still tucked away on a shelf when Clint’s voice broke the silence.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?”

Darcy knew that tone, heart skipping a beat as she turned to find Clint twirling her worn teenage diary in his hand. All she could do was gape.

“H-how did you find that? _Where_ did you find that?!”

Not that she was about to admit she’d lost track of where she’d hidden it and hadn’t seen the damn thing since her late teens— just before the fake IDs and bar hopping, so at least there was nothing salacious in there.

“Your spots haven’t exactly changed.”

She found herself nodding along as she dimly processed the words, watching Clint like a hawk to make sure he wasn’t about to pry it open. That was until it registered in her brain.

“Wait— you’ve been through my room?!”

Clint laughed, tossing the book to her across the room. 

“Don’t worry, I wouldn’t actually read it. I think I have enough new material to work with, quite frankly.”

Darcy couldn’t disagree with that, crossing the room to sit on the faded quilt. It wasn’t until she sat down on the bed that she realized there was a new decoration nailed above the door. A brass cross. She probably shouldn’t have been surprised. As if this whole event couldn’t feel more like an exorcism, ridding the house of any lingering remnants of Darcy’s mom. Of her heritage.

Clint followed her gaze, reaching over to lightly squeeze her leg before she slumped over and sunk into his side.

“So, dinner’s in an hour, Raquel said?”

“Well, if my stepmom hasn’t gotten through the first bottle of wine yet, it will probably be closer to an hour. If she has, two, which gives us time to order pizza instead of eating the inevitably charred disaster,,” Darcy sighed, flopping back down on her bed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought you here— I shouldn’t have come, I just—”

“Darcy, I _want_ to be here with you,” Clint assured, sitting down on the bed beside her and taking her hand. “Especially if you were going to have a shitty time. After all, who else would you be able to snark to at the table?”

She tilted her head up to look at him, leaning up to peck him on the cheek.

“You’re the sweetest, Clint Barton.”

He didn’t argue with her, squeezing the arm wrapped around her shoulder as they took a breather. They could just make out the back-and-forth happening downstairs, something about a missing merlot if Clint heard correctly.

He didn’t exactly have a whole lot of experience in the family department, especially not extended family. It’d always been him and his brother growing up, never much for holidays or celebrations. Like most foster kids, he always assumed.

So, this whole dog and pony show of wealth and forced family’ togetherness’ was foreign to him.

“So, is there like a bingo card for dinner interactions, or are we doing some market research for a future prototype?” Clint nudged Darcy’s arm with his elbow, “You know I love prototypes.”

Darcy snorted, swatting at his arm, “Very funny.”

But it was the sound of the doorbell and echoing voices that brought them out of their private moment.

The entryway was a swath of exaggerated cheek kisses and much-too-aggressive hugs, the dozen or so relative piled into the small place staring up at Darcy and Clint, who were still perched on the stairs.

“Is that our little Darcy?”

“Not so little anymore!”

“And finally, a boyfriend. Or fiancee? No, no ring. Definitely boyfriend.”

“ _Mom_ , you can’t just say that.”

It felt like an eternity before her family finally settled in seats around the dinner table. It was a welcome escape from the awkward introduction to Clint in the foyer, greeting aunts and uncles that Darcy had quizzed Clint on during the ride up, who eyed him skeptically. And as much as Darcy wished they could have kept the conversation polite and the sounds around the room to the clinking of cutlery against her stepmom’s fine china, it didn’t take long for it to devolve into more of an interrogation.

“When are you going to propose to our little Darcy?” Auntie Carol—Karen?— leaned across the table towards Clint, reaching for a roll from the basket between them. “Be a part of this family?”

Darcy knew Clint was afraid of that kind of commitment, having been burned once before on a failed proposal. And even if she hadn’t, the panicked look on his face was a dead giveaway. But the lines and pressure just kept building in excited tones around the table.

“Oh, and then _children_!”

“Got to make sure they’re baptized! Start going to church every Sunday to practice.”

Darcy could feel Clint flinch in the hand she’d co-opted under the table. She could feel the tightness in her chest. The words swirled around her skull like a swarm of bees, buzzing and humming and driving her further to the edge.

She had to do something.

“I don’t want to get married,” Darcy said in a voice that sliced chatter around the room to a dull clink of dropped cutlery. “To anyone.”

She could almost feel Clint’s relief at the statement.

“Darcy, you’re my only child. I just want to make sure you’re taken care of,”

Darcy sat up so fast her chair scraped the floor, the chatter quieting and all eyes falling on her expectantly. She might have even blushed at the added attention if she hadn’t desperately needed a change in conversation.

Clint bit his lip, wondering if he should leave this to Darcy’s exit, but something inside couldn’t let go of the look on her face. The one that told him she was already crying upstairs. 

“I think maybe you should let your adult child make her own decisions, maybe even be outwardly proud of a few of them. Marriage isn’t exactly the be-all-end-all of success to everyone.”

He shot a pointed glance across the table, leaving his chair backed out a foot away from the table before following Darcy upstairs. The timid voice that followed in the background had a few cracks in it.

“Uh, anyone for pie?”

Another chair squealed away from the table, and Clint could hear Darcy zipping up her luggage from the hallway, the brush of cardboard on wood as she pulled the boxes out of her closet for safe measure. She froze as he nudged open the crack in the door, poking his head through to look at her.

“Baby…” He slipped his arms under hers, pulling her close as the word rumbled in his chest. “C’mere.”

Guiding them towards the bed, Clint coaxed her to lie back against the covers. He swept the hair out of her face, placing it behind her ear as his thumb traced her cheek. Putting on his gentlest tone, he offered her a sad smile and an escape.

“Wanna get out of here, babe?”

Sitting up, she set her hands on either side of his face and smile, “I really don’t deserve you.”

Darcy pressed a kiss to his lips, expecting to pull back before he hooked an arm around her waist and pulled her closer. She giggled into the kiss, licking a strip across the seam of his lips. He groaned, hands cupping her ass.

“You’re right,” Clint said after a few breathless seconds. “You deserve the world.”

Darcy grinned, pecking the back of his hand as she stared up at him through her eyelashes.

“Hm, guess I’ll just have to settle for you.”

Clint hummed, pulling her into his side as they stared across the room at the bookshelf filled with familiar titles.

“You know what the best stress reliever is?” Darcy posed innocently.

She didn’t have to say another word; Clint knew exactly what she meant. The logistics, however, were going to be a little trickier.

“I guess _we’ll_ have to get a little creative tonight,” Clint shot back, staring at the tiny twin bed they were sitting on. “But I’ve got some ideas.”

“Do any of them involve a hotel because I don’t know if I can stay here tonight. And honestly, if it was just me, I’d be happy enough to sleep in my car, but...” Darcy trailed off with a sad smile, eyes flicking over to their luggage and boxes piled in the corner of the room.

“Baby, I’ll pay for the Ritz if it’ll make you feel better.”

Darcy pulled him into a tight hug, standing on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips in thanks as he pulled his car keys out from his pocket. A ghost of a smile hung on Darcy’s lips, relieved that she could escape the insanity, at least for the night.

Her dad would inevitably guilt her back by morning, but it was nice to pretend she had a choice.

“Well, I’d be stupid to turn down a full-sized bed, so let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

**Author's Note:**

> I missed writing Taserhawk. I have another multi-chapter prompt that will _probably_ be up before the end of the month.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading. All comments, kudos and bookmarks are loved and cherished.


End file.
